‘I think he’s left the sinking ship,’ said Pat philosophically. ‘Anna, eat properly please, stop feeding it to Murphy.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said Anna with a defiant pout. ‘I’ll get the pudding,’ said Mary and went to the oven. The rice pudding was a skinless, watery mess which also went to Murphy. They ate tinned peaches enlivened by Violet’s cream.
‘Why can’t we have this more often, it’s nice, said Patrick and Mary looked at him sourly. She prided herself on her puddings. The phone rang again as they finished. It was Fred.
‘You’ll never believe it.’ Patrick stood in the doorway looking stunned.
‘What? Tell me, Pat, what did he say?’
‘Not all that much. He didn’t have to, I could tell he was hugging himself.’
‘You mean he’s pleased? He doesn’t mind?’
‘Oh no, he doesn’t mind. Why should he, he’s got me right by the balls. I ought to have seen this coming I suppose, after all it’s publicity and it’s all the same to him, good or bad. As he says, who’s going to take me on now this has blown up. I’m stuck with the bastard. Stuck with him!’
Mary blinked, unable to take it in. Her world, that minutes before had been lying in pieces around her, reformed and took shape within her head.
Chapter 17
The garden was warm in the early morning sun, and a few butterflies danced in the undergrowth. Mary had cleared the long herbaceous border in fits and starts over the past months and today she began to weed round the huge clumps of peony and lupin that she had uncovered. The task satisfied her because it gave her the feeling that things would carry on. For her, gardening was an act of faith.
Patrick was due back today. It was over two weeks since Tim had left and nothing had been resolved, Pat seemingly content to weather the storm without a single word spoken in his defence. It was not good, they received sheaves of abusive letters with every post, Pat was booed at shows and an RSPCA inspector had come to prowl round the yard. Murphy had lifted his leg against his trousers and High Time had tried to bite him.
The wagon arrived home in time for lunch. Brogan jumped out at once and strode into the house.
‘Well?’ asked Mary, putting her face up for his kiss as she always did at meeting or parting. It was a little ritual they had lately drifted into and neither ever mentioned it, although neither ever forgot. He sighed and slumped into a chair.
‘Won one, but there were boos all round. Nearly a riot on the way out as well, they had to call the police. Still, it’s bound to die down.’
‘What do the other riders think?’
‘Mostly that it’s just Tim’s spite. One or two are looking at me sideways though, and at the girls. It’s rough on them.’
‘I’d like to see any of them say anything to Edna,’ laughed Mary and Patrick grinned.
‘Yes, but much more of this and Susan will quit.’ He lifted the baby on to his knee and then disappeared under the load as Ben and Anna claimed their right to a place there too. Eventually he gave the baby to Mary and tickled the others until they squealed. ‘Upstairs to get washed you horrible brats,’ he urged and chased them giggling from the room. Mary put Daniel in his bouncing chair and began to pour out the soup for lunch.
There was a sudden, thunderous knock on the door, causing Murphy to creep from his place in front of the Aga and under the table.
‘You miserable coward,’ said Mary automatically as she went to answer it.
Sam Downes stood there, his shoulders hunched aggressively.
‘Sam! How nice to see you, come in. Have you seen Edna?’
‘No. She’s to keep out of this, it’s between me and him. Now you take the children out the road and leave this to the men.’
She blinked at him. ‘Well, I don’t know…‘
Sit down, Sam, I’d like to talk to you.’ Patrick was unconcerned, a look of amusement on his face.
‘This is no laughing matter,’ roared Sam, barging past Mary who dashed into the yard to find Edna.
Someone had to stop her jealous lover from creating mayhem.
‘What’s this I hear about orgies,’ bellowed Sam, waving a newspaper.
‘Ancient history, Sam, the paper’s two weeks old at least. I thought you’d have heard long before now.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it. I knew you’d been taking advantage of a sweet, good girl and now there’s proof. I’m going to make you pay, that I am and I’m taking Edna away from here. I’ll not leave her in this - this - knocking shop!’
Patrick gave a guffaw which ceased abruptly when Sam lunged at him across the table. He leaped to his feet and began to circle the kitchen, Sam lumbering after him like a bear wakened from hibernation.
‘Now, Sam, let’s talk about this, you don’t believe everything you read in the papers do you—’ he dodged a haymaker of a punch ‘- for God’s sake Sam, I wouldn’t touch Edna with a barge pole.’ This was not well received and he retreated behind the table. Sam seized it, gave a mighty heave and threw it to one side. Murphy scuttled away.
‘That’s our table! Now enough is enough—’ Pat watched amazed as Sam hurled a chair across the room to crash against the Aga with the noise of splintering wood. ‘You bastard,’ roared Pat and seized Sam by the lapels, slamming him against the wall. He was about to knock his front teeth out when Edna hurtled into the room like an avenging spirit.
‘How dare you touch him! Leave him alone!’ she cried.
‘Look what he’s done to my home,’ complained Pat, retaining his hold.
‘Please put him down, Pat, he’s older than you,’ gasped Mary breathlessly.
‘And should know better,’ grumbled Pat, reluctantly releasing his victim.
Sam stood in front of Edna, somewhat downcast. ‘I told him you were leaving and you will,’ he said, trying to regain his impetus.
‘And why, may I ask?’
‘Because of what he is, that’s why! It’s in the paper, look.’
Edna seized the offending sheet and tore it into shreds with her firm, brown fingers. ‘If you believe that you’re a fool, Sam Downes,’ she cried. ‘What sort of woman do you think I am? You don’t own me and I make my own decisions. If you think you can walk in here and order me around you’re very much mistaken.’
The colour was draining from Sam’s face. He stood looking at Edna for a long minute, his shoulders drooping. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken. About a lot of things. Goodbye Edna.’ He walked slowly to the door and was gone.
The girl stood looking after him, her strong hands twisting together, a dirty mark on the side of her bony nose. A sob shook her, and then another, and Mary was about to go to her when Pat caught her arm.
‘Don’t,’ he urged. ‘You’re not the only person who likes to cry in private.’
‘But if she went after him—’ hissed Mary, but he glared at her.
‘Keep out of it,’ he insisted. ‘She can manage it by herself.’
Mary shot him a look brimming with doubt. To her mind if Edna ever needed guidance it was now. But she and Patrick had known each other ages before Mary came on the scene, so he could be right. She stood helpless as Edna’s lanky, jean-clad legs galloped across the yard into the solitude of the granary flat.
Next day Edna was still in hiding. When lunchtime came and went without any sign of her Mary decided she had to do something. Fortunately Patrick was out so she had only herself to convince. If she was rebuffed then so be it, but Susan’s reports of silence interspersed with groans were alarming to say the least. She crossed the yard with all the trepidation of a paleface making overtures to the Indians.
The granary flat was steeped in the squalor of girls living together. Dirty plates littered the table, underwear hung in garlands from the fireplace and a stray cat slept in a straw-filled box. Mary picked her way across the room, her nose wrinkled in distaste, and knocked on Edna’s door.
‘Edna, it’s me, can I come in?’ There was no reply and
she turned the handle. The room was in semi-darkness and smelled of stale perfume and misery. She touched the huddled form on the bed, for one terrible moment thinking she was dead.
‘Edna! Are you all right?’ There was a muffled sob and Mary breathed again. ‘Come on,’ she said, flinging back the curtains, ‘you can’t stay there forever, there’s work to be done. Have you eaten anything?’
‘I want to die!’ wailed Edna, surfacing from the tangle of bedclothes. Her face was blotched and swollen, large nose gleaming, eyes hardly visible.
Mary sat on the bed, taking one of the big, rough hands in hers.
‘Everyone has quarrels, love,’ she comforted. ‘It’ll pass.’
‘Edna shook her head. ‘It’s over,’ she sobbed. ‘I should have known it was too good to last, he won’t want me any more. Why am I always so stupid, that terrible, terrible row!’
Mary choked back a laugh. ‘Really, you call that a row? My good girl you ain’t seen nothing yet. I well remember Pat flinging me round the kitchen like a rag doll when he’d had one too many. And we’re still together.’
‘But you’re not married,’ sniffed Edna, ‘and Sam and I - it was going to be wonderful.’ She flung herself on Mary’s shoulder, awash with grief, and Mary soothed and patted as best she could. Comforting the afflicted seemed her role in life these days, yet there was no one to comfort her.
‘Edna you really must stop this,’ she said at last, giving her a little shake. ‘There’s no reason why you can’t drive round and apologise, now is there. In fact,’ she added, inspiration dawning, ‘I think you should go at once, heaven knows what Sam may have done. He really is desperately in love with you, poor man. It could be The Worst!’
‘You mean…?’
Mary nodded. ‘So hadn’t you better go and see?’ She struggled to prevent Edna rushing off there and then, blotched face, winceyette pyjamas and all, and it was an almost presentable figure that drove out half an hour later, still tearful and red nosed but washed and dressed.
She almost collided with Patrick who was driving in at his usual breakneck pace.
‘Where’s she going?’ he demanded. ‘You haven’t been getting at her have you, Mary?’
‘Good heavens, Pat, as if I’d dare. But I think you should start looking for a new head girl. Edna’s off up the aisle any minute.’
‘Bloody hell, I hope not. Surely I don’t deserve that as well as everything else.’ Mary sniffed and turned away. Perhaps he did deserve it. After all, she would be the last one to know.
Fred called in at around nine that night, and Edna was still not home. Mary was worried, suppose it hadn’t gone well with Sam, it might be Edna that ended it all. Suppose at this moment she was lying amidst the crumpled wreckage of her car, bleeding to death with no one even looking for her-
‘-isn’t that so, Mary?’
‘What? I’m sorry, Fred, I was miles away.’
‘We can go on as we used to, the three of us, a united, close-knit little team. Almost a family, really. Eeh, I’m glad we’re staying together, what a waster that lad turned out to be. Still, we live and learn.’
Mary opened her mouth to say that he could afford to be philosophical since he wasn’t suffering but then met Patrick’s eye and said instead, ‘I’m so glad you see it like that, Fred. It is nice to be friends again.’ Then, because it still sounded a bit cool she added, ‘You are like one of the family, Fred dear.’
He beamed and gave her a hug, but she dared not look at Patrick. Anyway, Fred did resemble a cantankerous old uncle, so rich that you dare not upset him in case he changed his will. There was the sound of an engine far away down the hill. At night you could hear cars coming for miles, grinding their way upwards. They always sent policemen in person for fatal accidents, thought Mary; with Edna gone they’d never persuade Susan to do High Time. It was an odd repercussion of Stephen’s death that she now saw dying as a distinct possibility, no longer did it seem unthinkable that people close to her should die. Morbid of course, for they very seldom did.
It was Sam Downes’s big Volvo, with Edna in the passenger seat. Patrick went to the door and there was the murmur of voices before they all came into the sitting room, Edna blinking in the light.
‘Like a drink?’ offered Patrick, anxious to cement relations with Sam.
He and Edna both accepted a beer and sat side by side on the edge of the sofa, their knees touching. Edna had a love-bite on her neck. Mary saw Pat follow the direction of her eyes, and then they glanced at each other, not needing to speak to know what each was thinking. From Pat, ‘Good God, can you imagine those two—’ to which Mary replied, ‘I think it’s sweet.’
Fred was feeling jocular. ‘Well then, Edna, when’s the big day?’
The girl’s face flamed and she slopped some beer on to her knee. Mary passed her a tissue, saying, ‘Don’t be premature, Fred. We don’t want to lose Edna just yet.’
‘You can say that again, it took us hours to get finished tonight,’ complained Pat. ‘You might tell me when you’re—’
‘Pat!’ warned Mary, seeing the telltale flush on Sam’s neck.
‘- and as I was going to say,’ continued Patrick smoothly, ‘we’ll have to get someone else pretty quick. Ye Gods, with all the horsemad girls in the world you wouldn’t think it would be this hard to get someone to stay.’
‘That newspaper might have something to do with it,’ said Sam Downes and Pat turned on him, waving an admonitory finger and saying, ‘If you think that the rubbish in there is true—’
‘Of course you don’t, do you, Sam,’ urged Edna. They all looked at him.
‘Well - no, no I suppose I don’t. Though why you put up with a rapscallion like that beats me, why in all my years of farming I’ve never had back word from someone as worked for me, not once.’
‘It’s your lovable nature, Sam,’ snarled Brogan and Mary looked pleadingly at him. He was being very good under the circumstances, but she sensed the anger that boiled beneath the surface. It would be good to have him to herself. Since the episode with Tim they had made love only the once and she had been tense and unable to enjoy it. Now, tonight, she had drunk a little and relaxed a lot and she needed him. She stretched, her leg firm against her skirt and felt Pat’s eyes on her.
‘Been a long day,’ said Patrick loudly. ‘I shall sleep well tonight.’
Fred had been looking for another drink, but as Pat yawned capaciously and glanced at the clock he sniffed and got to his feet. After all, he could afford to be tolerant. Equally obedient, Sam and Edna hastily downed their drinks and made for the door, Edna nervously avoiding Patrick’s eye.
Mary set about clearing glasses and ashtrays, aware of Patrick leaning against the fireplace. She made her movements slow, she bent so that he could see down her blouse. Oh, how she wanted him.
‘Put those things down,’ said Pat and she turned to him, laughing. He was a wonderful man to love. He entered her as she lay on the thin rug and she complained that it hurt her back but he nibbled her ear and told her that she should have thought of that before. So she wrapped herself around him and cried out as he thrust into her, but there was no pain in it. At last her body exploded in a giant convulsion of pleasure. Then they lay side by side, panting and exhausted.
‘You’re wonderful,’ murmured Patrick and bent his head to her lips.
There came a knocking on the door. ‘Who on earth is that?’ said Mary, frantically searching for her knickers.
‘God knows. Stay here, I’ll go.’ He stepped into his trousers and went shirtless to investigate. He came across Edna hovering uncertainly.
‘Paddy. I heard noises. Someone screamed, I thought - is Mary all right?’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Edna, what did you think I was doing to her? I don’t give her a nightly beating whatever you may think.’
‘No, but - you’re not the calmest person in the world, Paddy, and you seemed in a bit of a temper. Is Mary there?’
Mary emerged from
the sitting room, her shoes in her hand, her buttons half undone. ‘It’s kind of you, Edna, but I’m quite all right. We were just—’
‘Talking,’ said Patrick.
‘Talking?’ Mary shot him a look of surprise.
‘Yes, talking, and if you’d take yourself off to your lonely couch, Edna, you can safely leave us to our discussion. Nuclear disarmament. Mary gets very heated.’
‘Well,’ said Edna, pink with embarrassment. ‘It was very noisy, you know.’
‘We’ll be quieter, I promise,’ said Mary and Edna was ushered into the night.
Patrick and Mary collapsed with laughter. When he could speak Patrick said, ‘Come on to bed, though you’re a shameless bitch and noisy. I think I liked it better when Edna was on my side.’
‘I didn’t,’ yawned Mary and wandered off upstairs.
Mary was happy the next day, larking with the children as she dressed them and changing all the sheets with feelings of energetic virtue. When the phone rang she answered it hurriedly, sure it was yet another newspaperman wanting some meat to flesh the bones of the story. Without any facts to go on the papers were delving into showjumping generally, searching for signs of cruelty and dope. Mary never told them anything but it didn’t stop the calls. She had ceased even to be polite.
‘Hello,’ she snapped aggressively. There was a pause.
‘Could I speak to Patrick Brogan, please?’ said a very Irish voice.
‘He’s not here.’
‘Oh. This is his mother speaking. Would you be Mary?’
For a desperate moment Mary considered hanging up, or saying she was the cleaning woman. ‘Er…yes,’ she said eventually.
‘Oh,’ the voice said again. ‘Patrick tells me you have a new baby.’
‘Er…yes, we do. Daniel Patrick.’
‘My third grandchild and the only boy, his sister has two girls, you know. I should love to see him. Have you never thought of visiting Ireland?’
Mary ran a distracted hand through her hair. This was purgatory.
‘No, no I haven’t,’ she managed, and there was again a pause. ‘Do you - ever think of coming to England?’ she asked and the response was immediate.
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